The Auspice of Mars
by PersephoneFlame
Summary: The centaurs are reading dire signs in the stars, luckily there's someone at Hogwarts who understands the aloof creatures. Might she understand Snape, too?
1. Chapter 1

**_The Auspice of Mars_**

**Chapter 1.**

The darkness was heavy around them, a thick black blanket run through with pinpoint stars and torn by the reaching trees. Silence was a part of this night rather than an effort made by the gathering centaurs; not a leaf rustled against a hoof, and no branch snapped back against a muscled torso while they assembled in a clearing. Long moments passed as the small group stood motionless with their heads angled so their dark eyes could read the patterns of light points above them.

"The heavens are restless," finally broke the silence.

"Mars influences the year," shrugged another. "Discord and disharmony follow the blood star as they followed its namesake." 

"It will surely help the manipulations of He Who Would Enslave Fate," responded a third.

"Fate follows her course, Firenze, as she always does."

The youngest centaur stepped back into the crowd, keeping his gaze heavenward.

"The Keeper of Harmony will falter without the assistance of Mercury." All eyes turned slightly to examine the position of the planet low in the night sky, touched by the trees.

The centaurs fell into silence again as the night passed on, the stars following a familiar, set pattern that is almost unchanging. The morning stars moved inevitably into their positions before a voice broke the silence. "She Who Accepts Fate is coming."

Surprise rippled among the gathered. "She comes to this forest? She has not been here before."

"The Keeper sent for her." The surprise melted into the darkness, replaced with the heavy contemplative silence that marked a meeting of centaurs.

In the thick, moonless night, none of them noticed the rat.

* * * * *

"If I might have your attention," Professor Dumbledore's quiet voice carried over the Great Hall despite the welcoming of first years into their new houses. The Headmaster's presence caught the attention of the students, and quiet moved through the Great Hall like a wave until even those at the farthest reaches of the tables had turned to listen to the headmaster. "Congratulations on your Sorting," he said, directing his twinkling blue eyes at the first years. "There are a few announcements before we can commence with the feast. As always, the Forbidden Forest is just that. Students are reminded to keep away from it and the other out of bounds areas of the castle, and to be especially astute in keeping curfew. Out of bounds students will be strictly dealt with." Dumbledore's mouth straightened to a line for a few moments, and Harry was reminded that the kindly old man was one of the most powerful wizards in the world, though students rarely had occasion to witness that power. The friendly twinkle returned to his eyes so quickly it was as if the stern look had never been. He beamed a broad smile for the final announcement.  "I have the pleasure of announcing the new Professorships."

It was only then that Harry noticed the woman sitting between Snape and Professor Sprout. She held herself straight in her chair with her hands folded in front of her on the table, the long, wide sleeves of her robes pooling around them and trailing off the edge. Neither the deep purple material nor the silver scrollwork along the edges fit with the battered black, pointed hat that drooped over her face, obscuring the right side of it from her brow to below her high cheekbone.

Harry nudged Ron and tilted his head toward her, "Defense Against the Dark Arts," he mouthed, and Ron nodded his agreement. From the look of her, she couldn't be anything else: it always drew the weird ones.

"Zahirah Z. Zahir," Dumbledore indicated her with a lofty gesture--she stood as straight as she had sat before--"has generously agreed to take a leave of absence from her position at the Ministry of Magic to teach Care of Magical Creatures." The Headmaster held up his hand at the gasps from the students. Harry looked around in alarm--he had assumed Hagrid was attending to the horseless carriages. Surely Malfoy hadn't managed to get him sacked after trying unsuccessfully for so long?

"Hagrid is just fine," he assured them, to the disappointment of the Slytherins. "Professor Zahir will be filling in this year while Hagrid takes care of some personal business.

"The Defense Against Dark Arts position will again be filled by Professor Remus Lupin," he had to pause because of the cheers from the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. "Professor Lupin will be arriving before the term begins." Professor Dumbledore's smile outshone his merry blue eyes when he announced, "And now the moment you've undoubtedly all been waiting for: it's time to eat." Food had filled the tables before he took his seat at the head table.

"Well," Hermione said to get Ron's attention away from the shepherd's pie, "at least we will be learning something in Defense Against the Dark Arts classes."

Ron rolled his eyes at her. "I didn't see you complaining when that idiot Lockhart was here." 

"I bet Hagrid's 'personal business' involves the-- thing he was doing over the summer," Harry interjected, changing his words at the last minute since he was sure that Neville Longbottom could hear them.

"I wish he was back," Ron said around a mouthful of roll, "that woman looks tough."

"You wish he _were_ back," came the correction, and then the admonishment, "and tough isn't bad! After all, Professor McGonagall is tough." That Hermione practically worshipped the Transfiguration professor was no secret. Ron did not share her devotion.

"But I liked having Hagrid for Care of Magical Creatures! He bred the skrewts, true, but he never gave homework." Ron seemed to have forgotten last year's bitter complaints about the dangers of Hagrid's class. He looked at the new teacher with suspicion, "And how come we can't see half of her face?"

"Maybe her hat slipped," reasoned Harry.

Hermione was less gentle. "Why do you have to be so paranoid about everything, Ron?" she snapped and turned away to talk to Neville, who looked taken aback at the unexpected attention.

Harry could only shrug helplessly at Ron's confused look, turning with him to look at Hermione. What was her problem?

* * * * *

Zahirah's couldn't concentrate on the excellent food. She barely tasted it-- she was more interested in looking around the Great Hall at the lavish architecture and the myriad of people. All of the people she worked with at the Ministry were always talking about their old school, and she was finding that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry lived up to its amazing reputation. Not that anything wasn't better than her desk job at the Office for the Supervision and Registration of Magical Pets, the branch of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures she had supervised until a few days ago. Even in her awe at the Great Hall, she couldn't help but feel a little triumphant about being here, though it didn't show on her face.

Neither the Ministry nor the Department could deny that teaching at Hogwarts was a noble and needed job. Neither could come up with a good reason to refuse her the ten-month hiatus she had requested. They had come up with several bad reasons between them, but nothing to convince Zahirah to change her mind. While she cited the need of the school, the chance to get away from endless paperwork was more welcome. It was just an added bonus that she could truthfully argue that she was one of the few people the Department had who were qualified to oversee the Forbidden Forest. Her happiest years had been the years she spent working with safe habitats for magical creatures, before her 'promotion,' so privately she was delighted with the opportunity for more "hands on" work. 

The soft meow from under the table brought her attention to more practical things: like eating. Taking a piece of cut, rare beef from her plate, she leaned over to offer it to the large cat-like creature twined around her booted ankles. The kneazle had just taken the morsel when Zahirah felt cloth brush past her face and her hat seemed in danger of being knocked off by a stray elbow.

She straightened and reached to steady the hat though she knew full well that that light of a touch was not going to break the charms holding it in place. She turned to look at the owner of the offending elbow just as he was saying, "Excuse me," with a tone in his quiet growl that made the polite phrase an accusation rather than an apology. The man's face wore a sneer to match the tone, his mouth set into a line and his dark, dark eyes glittering at her over a nose more hooked and more prominent than even her own.

"Excuse me," she replied in a light voice that was utterly dominated by the smooth rumble of the man.

"What exactly were you doing, or was it your intention to put that ragged excuse for a hat in my food?" The man spoke to her as if she were some errant student who needed to be corrected.

Zahirah met his glare with hard, brown eyes. "It was not my intention to disturb you," she explained with no hint of annoyance, only barely hidden steel. "I was simply passing a bit of food to my kneazle--but I'll be happy to transfer her to the table to avoid contaminating your food, Professor..." She trailed off, plainly requesting his name with the upward lilt in her now-pleasant voice. An equally as pleasant smile curved her lips, but was not mirrored in her eyes. His outrage at the idea, or maybe it was at her forgetting his name, was quite amusing. That her mouth turned up even more at his anger certainly did nothing to endear her to him.

"Pets, Professor Zahir, may be your specialty," the dark-haired man said, his voice dripping with scorn, "but they are not welcome at the table. The animal should be fed on your own time when the rest of us don't have to be witness to the creature's undoubtedly disgusting eating habits."

"Persephone remains with me at all times," Zahirah almost couldn't keep the annoyance from creeping into her voice, "and undoubtedly," she mimicked his pronunciation carefully, "has better manners than most of the students at this school, and probably some of the professors."  She managed to keep her voice steady.

"And I don't care to eat with them, either," he replied before pointedly folding his napkin and leaving the Great Hall. 

At least his tantrum gave Persephone a more accessible place to sit. The kneazle leapt into the vacated chair so she could better eat out of Zahirah's hands. Zahirah rather hoped someone would tell the arrogant bastard about it later.

"Don't let Professor Snape get to you, dear," said the witch beside her, looking as if she wanted to pat Zahirah on the hand. "He's like that with everyone; twice as bad with the Gryffindor students."

"Not at all." Zahirah forced indifference and fed Persephone another choice bit of meat. If she were less in control of her facial expressions and voice, it would have been harder to claim that he hadn't 'gotten to her.' His scorn had been for her rather than the kneazle at her feet, and she was distinctly afraid she might have said something impolitic if the conversation had continued. Holding her distance was the best way to maintain her emotional control and rationality. Her methodical isolation from day-to-day human society was encouraged by her years as Liaison for Centaur Affairs, among creatures that lived detachment. Yet, still, she'd been talking to Professor Snape for five minutes and had nearly lost her tongue. 

She and Persephone finished their meal in relative peace. Professor Sprout's good natured questioning was bothersome, but not unbearable for one meal. After enduring as much as she could, she rose and politely excused herself to go and unpack, a task she had left undone during the day.

Instead, she had been out to Hagrid's house to retrieve his lesson plans from the year before. She assumed the big slobbery dog haunting about outside was his 'Fang' he had been so worried about in his note. It amused Zahirah immensely to picture Argus Filch attempting to simultaneously calm Fang and Mrs. Norris and to feed the hulking creature. Filch and Mrs. Norris had both disapproved of Persephone upon sight, no telling what they said to each other privately about Fang. Of course, it was obvious that Mrs. Norris wore the pants in her relationship with Fang, if the way the boarhound cowered around Persephone was any indication. Filch probably just dropped the food while his cat terrorized Fang into cowering in the overgrown pumpkin patch behind the house.

"Thank the Almighty they told me I didn't have to keep up Hagrid's garden," she said aloud to the kneazle, who was curled up regally on the four-poster bed in their rooms.  She remembered seeing the overgrown patch of vines and leaves-- it was more than out of her league. "Though we do have to take care of his other duties as caretaker of the grounds." Like going into the Forbidden Forest. Persephone merowled her agreement as she watched Zahirah unfold robes from the trunk. The cat-like creature had a mischievous look in her eye that Zahirah was too busy to notice. "Oh, I know you're ready," she continued to hang the bold colored robes as she talked. Most of them had long, wide armed sleeves that tapered to narrow shoulders, a style that had never been a very popular British fashion. "But you have to understand, Seph, I haven't done any real field work in years, and the Forbidden Forest isn't exactly a walk in Merlin's back yard, you--" she whipped the flimsy silk garment out of the way just in time. The kneazle huffed a small feline huff and hopped calmly into the wardrobe as if that had been her intention the whole time. "I'm not that out of practice, my little goddess!" Her laughter was quiet but rich with amusement that the kneazle pretended not to hear.

Her robes all safely stored in the wardrobe that from the outside appeared far too small to hold them all, Zahirah turned to her trunk and opened the section full of books she had left to unpack. Her professors had always encouraged their students to handle personal items without magic as a kind of meditative and self-reflective exercise, but she wasn't at the Blessed Prophet's Academy for the Extraordinarily Talented now, and from what she had seen Hogwarts had no policy about limiting magic for mundane tasks. That was one of the things she loved dearly about Britain: the Muggle government cooperated to allow wizards their own separate and wizard-like lives. She didn't regret her years in Abu Dhabi at the Academy for an instant, but it would have been nice to be able to use cleaning spells before room inspection. Just as it was nice to be able to pull her wand from the sleeve of her robe and shelve all of her books with a wrist flick and a murmured spell. She didn't need to touch the various astronomy or mythology volumes to remember she owned them, and as for the tomes on hippogriffs or centaurs or pegasai, she knew those almost by heart. She walked over to run her long fingers over the spine of _British Beauties_ and pulled out _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. These would need to be looked over again along with several others that would include items on things she was likely to encounter in the Forbidden Forest.

She flipped open _Fantastic Beasts_ with a fond smile and didn't close it until she heard a quiet tinkling chime--Persephone was twining about her ankle and moving the chime-hung anklet she wore over her boot. "Oh!" her mouth formed the exclamation more than she said it. Persephone mewed up at her and then pointedly walked over to the bed. "Ok! I understand!" she grumbled at the kneazle's loud, insistent meow.

Just before she crawled into the velvet-draped bed, she placed a picture on the nightstand: a smiling family waving from a flying carpet. A much younger version of herself was seated behind a man who was obviously her father and a woman who must be her mother, a fair-complexioned woman who kept looking over the side of the carpet and back at the man and shaking her head. Zahirah smiled at the picture and put out the lights.

* * * * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione trudged across the school grounds with the other Gryffindors. Each was carrying his _Monster Book of Monsters_ muzzled with a belt. There had been no other text specified on the reading list, and Hermione had convinced them all that there was a possibility that meant they would be using the same book. "I still think we should have left them buried in our trunks," grumbled Ron, glaring at his book as it made an impressive attempt to flop out of his arms.

"What if we need them?" gasped Hermione, scandalized that anyone would bury a book, even these books.

"Well, Slytherin better lose House Points for not bringing theirs!" Harry pointed across the way to the unburdened Slytherins.

"Not bloody likely--"

"Ron!"

Harry quieted them both by observing, "At least we know how to open them, in case she doesn't." He could tell even Hermione agreed with this, her days of believing someone was infallible just because he was a teacher ended during her second year. She admitted now that Lockhart was an insufferable prat, though it was possible that the admission had more to do with Harry and Ron's teasing than with anything else. They would see soon if this one was up to filling her position at Hogwarts.

Harry didn't have any longer to mull over his past professors though, as they had arrived outside Hagrid's hut and Professor Zahir was standing in front of it with her arms crossed, watching them. Looking at her then, Harry didn't think that _stern_ was really the word for her. Sure, her hair was tucked away beneath that old hat in a McGonagall-esque fashion, but loose black tendrils had pulled away and curled around her face and neck in a way that his Head of House would never allow. No, Harry decided, looking at her expressionless brown eyes above those exotic high cheekbones and the straight set to her mouth; indifferent was a much better description than stern.

Ron's hiss drew his attention, "She's wearing her hat tilted again!" He cut his eyes towards the woman pointedly.

"Maybe she just likes it that way," Harry said out of the side of his mouth. Hermione just glared at the both of them and motioned for quiet. Professor Zahirah Zahir's first lesson had begun.

* * * * *

Zahirah watched the Gryffindors struggle up with those hideous books, but contained her amusement. The poor children, to have to carry those things around all because Hagrid, who she'd had plenty of dealings with already in her two years in the Magical Pets division, hadn't known they'd been published as a joke. The Slytherins, on the other hand, were less amusing. She could feel Persephone's fur start to stand on end as they approached. There was no time to calm the spotted kneazle, however, as her undoubtedly impressive appearance had quieted the students.

"Before we begin today's lesson, I have a few things to say," she started in modulated tones. It had taken her almost a year of working with centaurs to perfect that tone: it made use of her light, melodic voice to maintain interest, yet conveyed utter indifference to the result of her words. "First, there was no text listed on your supply lists because we will not be using one aside from occasional references to _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ and as you should have retained that from your first year of study. If you did not, the library has many copies; I did not feel the need to include it on your list." She pretended not to see the Slytherins snickering at the Gryffindors with their bound and struggling books. "Secondly, I imagine there is some curiosity about myself." She made sure to sound positively bored at this point. No need for the students to want to sniff around in her personal affairs, or lack thereof. "I will give you some information that should cover the basics and prevent further interruption in class. My name is Zahirah Zoroaster Zahir. I did not receive my magical education at Hogwarts and so have no House affiliation to speak of. I am a British citizen. I've worked for the Ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures since I left school, which is why I'm qualified to be your professor." That covered it except for 'why didn't you go to Hogwarts?' but that was none of their business.

"Now, to begin, can anyone identify the small magical creature currently wrapped around my ankles?" She lifted the hem of her indigo robes so to better display the cat-like creature with its leonine tail, over-sized ears, and spots. She nodded to the bushy-haired Gryffindor girl whose hand shot up. "Yes, Miss...?

"Hermione Granger," the girl supplied before answering. "It's a kneazle, isn't it?"

"Is she?" Zahirah queried right back. "When dealing with Magical Creatures, it is important to know, Miss Granger." From the girl's surprised and hurt expression and the grins on the faces of the Slytherins and even a couple of the Gryffindors, she could tell this Miss Granger was rarely wrong. "But you are correct with your guess. Persephone is a kneazle. Does anyone know what distinguishes a kneazle from a common Muggle housecat?"

Again, Miss Granger's hand rose immediately, but it wasn't trailed too far by the lazy arm of a blond Slytherin boy. "Mister . . ." she nodded to him.

"Draco Malfoy," he drawled at her, eyes flashing triumphantly, as if the mere name should have her shaking in her boots. His dramatic pause, waiting for some kind of reaction, perhaps a gasp of awe, was too much, even for the son of the always-superior Lucius Malfoy. The family resemblance was uncanny.

"Well, Mister Malfoy, are you going to answer the question or simply leave us to bask in the glory of your impressive name?" She never lost her modulated tone, though her mouth threatened to turn up on the corners. It was always her weakness, that mouth.

Her humor didn't seem to go over well with Draco Malfoy who flushed, then sneered his answer, "Muggle house cats are more stupid, but less meddlesome."

"Kneazles do have a tendency to dislike and point out those who are dishonest or who have a penchant for the Dark Arts, as well as any Dark activity," she replied mildly, ignoring the nearly silent murmur that rippled through the students at her interpretation of Mr. Malfoy's answer. "They are also smarter than the average house cat. They are one of several types of magical creature that look enough like a Muggle animal to keep as a pet, but are significantly different enough to require licenses. I'd like a foot and a half of parchment on why licensing of magical pets is important by next class. Include examples of what happens when Muggles see un-glamoured magical animals and an example of at least one other type of creature that may be kept as a pet as long as the owner has a license." She went on, despite the groans of her students.

She spent the remainder of the class discussing the need for licensing of all wizard-owned magical creatures. She noticed precious few of the students were taking notes, as many of them had not even brought a quill. Most of them were staring either blankly into the forest or at her. She restrained her smile yet again when she realized some of them were searching for the source of the delicate chime that accompanied her steps.

She dismissed them after the magically amplified bell that signaled the end of the hour. "That's it for class today." She turned away and walked towards the Forbidden Forest before anyone had a chance to ask questions.

She didn't actually go into the Forbidden Forest; she doubled back after the students and headed for the rooms that Dumbledore had located on the ground floor conveniently near a seldom-used exit to the grounds. She somehow managed to run into Filch even in the short distance between the entrance of the castle and her rooms.

Persephone's laid back ears and lashing tail alerted Zahirah to his presence. The kneazle made no attempt to warn Zahirah, which meant she wasn't upset about potential danger. While Persephone formed strong opinions about people fairly quickly, Zahirah could think of only a pair of beings in Hogwarts that inspired that reaction: Mr. Argus Filch and (more importantly) his cat, Mrs. Norris. Zahirah repressed a smile: the kneazle had taken a distinct dislike to the bossy cat

"Mr. Filch," she greeted the man politely, disinterested, "is there something I can help you with?" She turned to face the caretaker soon enough to catch the surprise on his face at having been noticed.

"Yes, Professor." His thin lips were thinner than usual as he scowled. "It has come to our attention," he indicated Mrs. Norris who was glowering at Persephone who was now pointedly ignoring her, "that you have been using an alternate entrance to the castle."

Zahirah's thick brows arched expressively at him, "Yes, the Headmaster positioned my rooms and office so that I might have the best access to the grounds." Her voice was pleasant, if bored, but inwardly, annoyance was settling in. This pompous oaf thought that her comings and goings were his business? He had another think coming if he thought he was going to keep tabs on her.

"It is important that I am informed of the use of portals, corridors, and rooms that are off limits to the students, Professor Zahir." Zahirah had the impression she was being scolded and that Filch was doing everything in his power to keep some amount of respect in his voice. At one time, she might have been intimidated by this posturing idiot, but she had since grown up and he needed to be reminded of that.

"Consider yourself informed, Mr. Filch, that I will be using that particular door and perhaps others on a regular basis. I am not one of the students to whom such things are out of bounds. Do not try to inhibit my movements: you may not like the results." Her smile was cold and chilled even more by the promise in her eyes and normally light voice. Not that she would do anything to deliberately hurt the man, but if she were prevented from getting to the Forbidden Forest somehow, things might go badly. No harm in his thinking she was threatening him, though. Persephone gave a small hiss at the two of them as Zahirah turned and breezed past without regard to either Filch's outraged or Mrs. Norris' indignant looks.

Though she spent the afternoon studying and getting ready, Zahirah still found it hard to eat much at dinner. A mix of fear and anticipation warred within her for prominence and neither allowed much room for food. She'd missed very much her interactions with magical creatures large and small, harmless and potentially dangerous, but it had been two years since her last serious work with them in the wild. And yet, here she was, preparing to go into the Forbidden Forest of Hogwarts.

She was sure the centaurs would help her: she knew that most of that race at least respected her for her advocation of their interests and her efforts to understand their culture. And, if this forest was like other magical habitats, the centaurs were likely to have a pretty good idea of the state of the entire forest and its inhabitants. Their powers of observation extended beyond the heavens.

She left dinner as soon as she could politely disentangle herself from Professor Sprout's chipper questions about how she'd liked her first day teaching. Professor Snape, thankfully, had been silent throughout the meal. She really didn't need to get worked up any more than she already was before venturing into the forest.

As it was, she was feeling perfectly confident as she made her way to her rooms, and then down the corridor to the exit. Her jitters melted away as she got closer to the actual work-- working with animals was what she was good at, exploring magical habitats was what she enjoyed. 

Pulling her dark cloak around her, Zahirah stepped onto the cool grounds of the school. Persephone stayed close to her as they walked deeper into the darkness. Rarely was there silence between them, but it was an unspoken agreement to hold silence during the trip into the forest.

Zahirah broke the silence with a trilling whistle near the edge of the forest, and stood waiting for the answer to her call. The darkness rippled in the wand light before her. Four muffled hoof beats on the forest floor announced the arrival of the pegasus even before the soft whicker.

"Mika'il," she breathed to the black thestral that shimmered into view just close enough to touch. He had been confiscated from a careless wizard who kept forgetting to glamour his wings away. Zahirah was thrilled when she had sweet-talked the Department into letting her keep him at the very beginning of her job in License Regulation. Training him had been almost frighteningly easy.

"Ready to take us into the forest?" Zahirah asked as she moved around to mount the animal, knowing her quiet words would steady him. She lifted Persephone onto the pegasus' back first, and then swung up behind the great black wings that extended from Mika'il's powerful shoulders.

She would never tire of the surge of power that was a pegasus taking flight from full gallop. It was made more exhilarating by the lack of bridle that necessitated her tight grip with her lower legs and the burying of hands in his mane while carefully bracing Persephone. The ride smoothed out in the air and she was able to guide Mika'il with her knees and to turn her attention towards the ground.

She knew what she was looking for: a clearing big enough to allow star gazing. It was a nice night for it with the moon waned to a sliver in the clear sky. It was inevitable that the centaurs would be out and gathering to discuss the position of the constellations and planets.

There. A concentration of darkness on the ground looked promising. She shifted her weight to bring Mika'il closer in. It was a clearing, but devoid of centaurs. Zahirah urged her mount down further. Her vision was adjusted to the starlight, but not enough to make out details. "_Lumos_." In the light of her want she could see front-heavy hoof marks. There had been centaurs here.

"Where are they now?" she asked the night, bewildered and unguarded in her solitude. There wasn't a centaur in her acquaintance that would turn away from a clear night of stars, and she had been told that the Hogwarts group was more zealous than most.

Persephone made a low noise halfway between a miaow and a growl. A glance revealed the kneazle's fur standing on end.

"_Nox_.

"_Fetkhah_," she gave the command to vanish in Arabic as the light from her want faded. Then she was fading as well, the thestral's magic hiding all three of them.

But nothing came. No dangerous creature, no dark wizard broke away from the blackness of the forest to disturb the clearing.

They searched half a dozen clearings that showed signs of centaurs. Persephone disliked them all. Finally, Zahirah turned the pegasus back towards the comforting lights of Hogwarts. There were no stargazers to be found.

A few hours' sleep and two cups of coffee did nothing to give Zahirah any ideas about the centaurs. Not any plausible ideas. They were big animals and could be fierce fighters. It was unlikely something removed them by force. She had never heard of centaurs leaving their chosen home permanently barring natural disaster. Was there a gathering she wasn't aware of? It chilled her to imagine what might merit a council of such magnitude.

**-----**

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The translation of Arabic to English is always a little dicey because of the transliteration required. My Anglicization of Arabic words may disagree with yours, or vice-versa. If you're interested in the language, your best bet is to find a native speaker and ask. In lieu of that, a good book may be able to help you.

As always, thanks go out to my beta team: Mike, Joyce, and my official Sugarquill beta reader, Jedi Boadicea.


	2. Chapter 2

**_The Auspice of Mars_**

**Chapter 2.******

During the month they had been at Hogwarts, Zahirah and Persephone had reached a wary truce with Professor Snape: the kneazle sat in Zahirah's lap at meals and Snape ignored them both. She had no doubt that Snape had first lobbied for the changing of the seating arrangement altogether. She had made some discreet inquiries into the matter herself and found that the current set up had been determined by Hagrid's being the only person on the faculty willing to sit next to the unpleasant man, so it was unlikely anyone would be willing to trade with her. 

Though, if she put aside his initial rudeness, the seating arrangement suited her just fine as long as he tolerated Persephone. Because he was as little interested in conversation as she, sitting next to him meant she only had to discourage one conversation partner. That fortuitous arrangement meant she had managed her whole time at Hogwarts without yet having to make polite small talk with Professor Sprout more than twice. The buoyant woman learned to disregard Zahirah and Snape entirely and to consider Professor Vector as her only conversation partner. 

It wasn't that Zahirah was by nature antisocial. She simply had little use for small talk, and even less for forming relationships with people she would only associate with for ten months. So, she remained encased in disinterested silence and was pleased that Professor Snape did the same. Professor Sprout, thankfully, had given her up for lost early in the term.

Unfortunately, Persephone didn't share the sentiment. Zahirah honestly couldn't tell if the kneazle liked the dour Professor Snape or if she just enjoyed bothering him. It was unexpected that the spotted feline should pay him any attention, and positive attention was the last thing anyone would expect from a Dark-sensing creature, if the rumors were to be believed.

"Professor Zahir, I have asked you repeatedly to control that creature of yours--" Zahirah groaned inwardly as the much put out voice of Professor Snape broke the communication barrier, which, until then, had been pleasantly undisturbed. "You can not be the expert the Ministry seems to believe you are if you can't control your own pet."

So much for acceptable dinner partners. 

"Have you ever tried to control a feline, Professor Snape?" she asked, allowing a hint of humor to creep into her voice at the man's horrified look. For some indiscernible feline reason, Persephone slipped a paw over onto Snape's lap and was looking up at him while purring loudly. Snape looked at the kneazle like she was a disease.

"What gives you the idea that I would waste my valuable time with a cat?" The Snape-sneer she had already come to recognize accompanied the meant-to-be rhetorical question.

"Well, some of us believe there is life outside work, or do you have no other interests outside boiling herbs down to sticky pastes?" The comment was meant to be wry, but came out sounding amusedly friendly, and she knew her lips were turned up at the corners--damn that mouth. The warmth wasn't for him, but for the kneazle who had moved over entirely into Snape's lap and was nuzzling his arm and continuing to purr. 

Snape stopped trying to eat entirely, and so did she-- they stared at the kneazle in Snape's lap, half-turned towards each other, she with a look of fond amusement, he with one of horror. 

"And even though you seem to do nothing but slave over brewing fancy teas, she likes you, Professor. Though, I suppose that may have happened so infrequently that you don't recognize the signs?" She regained her bitingly neutral voice by the final comment and hoped that the friendly sound of earlier would be forgotten.

Snape glared at her and pushed Persephone away; apparently the change in the tone of voice had erased any amiable feelings that might have surfaced. It was lucky that the kneazle recovered quickly enough to keep her balance and to return to Zahirah's lap. 

"My free time is not and shall not be any of your business, Professor Zahir." Snape glowered at them, matching Persephone's glare. The kneazle sneezed her indignation quietly at him. 

Zahirah turned away with a slight frown and they resumed their meal in blessed silence. As much fun as it was to bait Professor Snape, she was going to have to have a long talk with Persephone; many more scenes like that and they were going to lose their pleasantly unintrusive dinner companion.

* * * * *

Professor Snape was never exactly a picnic to have a class under, but this Potions class was going to be absolute hell. Harry and his fellow Gryffindors shuffled nervously into the dank classroom, all too aware of the mud they were tracking in and the animal odor hovering around them. The Slytherins watched from their seats with ill-contained glee, looking pristine and collected.

Harry didn't dare lift his eyes to look at Snape. Instead, he tried to be as unassuming as possible as he slid into his seat after a reeking Ron. He didn't have to work at being unnoticed for long. A loud clang drew the attention of the students and, unfortunately for Neville Longbottom, shaking above his dropped cauldron, the matte black eyes of Professor Snape.

"Longbottom," the Professor hissed, his malevolent voice deceptively quiet. That almost-whispered name sent shivers through the students. Harry thought that Moody's yelling last year had been less frightening, eye and all. Neville apparently agreed, because instead of recovering, he squeaked and shook so much he knocked a--thankfully empty--beaker off of the table, too. Snape's expression didn't alter, as though he expected no better from Neville. "Will you please explain to me why you and your housemates have seen fit to bring your filth and stench into my classroom and disturb my lesson by straggling in late like a group of out of work Squibs?"

Neville was sweating so much Harry imagined a giant magnifying glass focusing the heat of the sun on him. He flinched noticeably, even through his shaking, at the word _Squib. It took the boy four tries to get a word out, and Neville wasn't usually a stutterer, "P--Pr--Pro--Professor Zahir," Neville's voice squeaked on the 'i' sound, "made us clean out the stables, Sir." he gulped and kept his eyes on his shaking hands._

"You have Care of Magical Creatures with Slytherin; do you not, Mister Longbottom?" Snape was so calm Harry felt like holding his breath and waiting for the other shoe to plummet.

Neville nodded.

"I will assume that was an affirmative nod and not just your pathetic quivering, Longbottom. Ten points from Gryffindor for tardiness," Snape turned back towards his desk adding, "and as the Slytherins managed to arrive on time and clean, that is ten points each."

Harry felt ill--eighty points from Gryffindor would give Slytherin the advantage going into their first Quiddich game next week. He refused to turn and look at the gloating faces he knew Draco Malfoy and his cronies were wearing. He just started pulling out his potions supplies dejectedly.

"Potter!" Snape's voice came as a complete and unwelcome shock--like the helpless dread of realizing you've slept through an exam intruding on your previously-pleasant lie in.. He had thought that their scolding was over, punishment meted out. "What is that?" Snape didn't need to point: his nose did it for him. 

Harry looked down. Professor Zahir's kneazle was at his feet looking adoringly over at Snape. Harry thought the creature must be slow--weren't kneazles supposed to avoid dark wizards? It didn't take Harry long to notice the note fastened about the feline's neck. He reached for it, but the kneazle chose that moment to lazily rise and make its way over to Snape.

"He has a note, Sir," Harry said, feeling rather like tongue-tied Neville for stating the obvious.

* * * * *

Why couldn't that woman get a bloody owl like everyone else in the bloody wizarding world? Why did she have to send this fur ball into his sacrosanct classroom to disturb the lessons he strove to finish as quickly as possible? Snape's displeasure at seeing the animal approaching him colored his sneering response to Harry, "I can see that, Potter, thank you, if I ever need play-by-play announcing for class disturbances, I will be sure to send you an owl with an official notice." He didn't even see Potter's rebellious look or Weasley's furious one because he was bending down to take the note from Persephone. "Oh, and by the way Potter, I will be informing Professor Zahir that you cannot even correctly identify the gender of her companion. Full marks for that blunder, don't you agree, Mister Malfoy?"

Snape largely ignored Draco's pompous, self-serving reply as he gave the kneazle a light pat and a scratch behind the ears before taking the note. Persephone wrapped around his ankles and purred while he read:

_Professor Snape,_

_Forgive me for keeping the Gryffindors too late-- they were learning the consequences of approaching an unknown animal too quickly. I have at least Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan for detention tonight, so you will have to wait your turn._

_Z. Zahir_

Very interesting--the foolhardy Gryffindors were being held accountable for their idiocy. But too much of his valuable time had been wasted on it already, and he still had to get through the day's syllabus. So Severus folded the note and placed it in his robes as he instructed the incompetents through the initial steps of a thawing potion. Next time, he promised himself, he would allow himself the pleasure of bringing the Gryffindors down another couple of notches.

Every once in awhile he felt a soft touch against his ankles as he stalked about the room and lurked over the shoulders of the damnably irrepressible Gryffindors and subtly directing the nearly as useless Slytherins. He ignored the sensation throughout the lesson, and snarled, "Get out," to the students before bending to touch the kneazle at his feet.

He looked curiously at Professor Zahir's companion--Persephone, she called the kneazle. Severus had never had a pet before; his father had considered them frivolous wastes of time and money, aside from his precious hunting hounds and horses. After he had gotten older, he had never particularly been inclined to get one, as most small creatures tended to be afraid of him, or to end up in jars of formaldehyde. This one, though, against all reason, seemed to be fond of him, and unfortunately, preserving Persephone in a jar was out of the question. It was only when she mewed because he had stopped that he realized he'd been petting her at all.

Severus jerked his hand away as if he'd touched a hot cauldron. Pets were for those who needed the reassuring love that stupid animals give to anyone who feed them. Severus didn't need reassurances from anything, and he certainly didn't need love. His face assumed its normal scornful look at the thought of needing love from an animal.

The sneer was in place during his brief journey to Professor Zahir's rooms. The creature had refused to leave his classroom, so he was glad he met no one on the way--sneer or no, he was unsure if a man carrying a purring kneazle could really be imposing. Reminded of that, he placed Persephone on the floor before rapping insistently on Professor Zahir's door.

Her moment of wide-eyed surprise was not unexpected; he was probably the last person she expected to find when she answered that insistent knock.

"Are you lost?" she asked snippily with her robe pulled tightly around her.

He filled his voice with scorn. "I am not the one that is lost, Professor Zahir." He watched her frown even more deeply until he continued." Your creature made a nuisance of herself in my class--I came to dispose of her and remind you again that pets, even for faculty are not allowed if they cause a disturbance."

It was only then that Zahirah's exposed eye traveled to where Persephone peered from behind his black robes. "There she is," her voice full of delight in contrast to her usual even tone, "I was afraid she'd wandered into the Forbidden Forest without me!"

It was all Snape could do to keep from shaking her, as charming as her delighted look was. He was trying to make a point, a point he had assumed she would understand, having shown every indication of being a reasonable human being--except, he should have remembered, when it came to her kneazle. "Professor Zahir," he said sharply, "she did wander into my Forbidden classroom. Next time you see fit to send me a message, do so by owl like the rest of the wizarding world."

She wasn't listening. He could tell she wasn't listening because she was down at his feet swooping Persephone into her arms. "Woman," he snapped, "I am a professor at this school, and as such, I deserve your respect and attention."

* * * * *

Zahirah looked up from where she had pressed her face into the spotted fur--Professor Snape's face was turning red with frustration. She hid her small smile behind Persephone. So the man could be gotten to. When his words registered, her smile disappeared and she drew herself up to her full height, shifting her arms so that Persephone climbed up and draped herself over her shoulders.

"And I am also a professor at this school and a Division head at the Ministry of Magic, not an errant student for you to reprimand. You can be assured that Persephone does not seek you out because I ask her to. You, as is your habit, have ignored the fact that Persephone is not a pet but my companion and as such is not subject to my every whim.

"You have somehow made her your friend, a credential I doubt many people would believe. Don't blame me if she goes looking for you." She had assumed her centaur-like calm for the entire speech, letting her indignation show only in the cool depths of her eyes. It was a calm she only assumed, a calm she wore like a mask. Even anger was a passion, something that could be held on to after someone had gone, and she had no intention of attaching herself to anyone she'd be around only for a few months, however that attachment is made.

"Then, Professor," how did he manage to make an insult out of the title? "Don't blame me for throwing her out of my classroom next time."

The look Persephone gave him was undeniably a hurt one, a look that quickly turned to haughty disdain. "Next time," Zahirah said, reaching up to comfort the kneazle, "try it." She was torn between amusement and anger, and so before she gave way to both, she shut the door in his sneering, hook-nosed face.

* * * * *

Thereafter, a complete lack of communication was the rule at their end of the top table. Severus stared morosely ahead as he ate his food like an automaton, and Professor Zahir only murmured little endearments to Persephone on her lap. The murmurs were unintelligible, however, and he found that more maddening than silence--the woman next to him refused to speak to anyone on either side of her, and the before-friendly kneazle ignored him utterly. It was damn near oppressive, even for a man who spent his adult life in self-imposed solitary confinement.

The hatred of students he had borne with little notice. He was well aware that the Wizarding World viewed him as a shady figure at the very best and that he was likely even still considered a possible Death Eater by many of the Ministry's officials. Severus had known isolation and disapproval and dislike, but even he was finding it hard to deal with the passive-aggressive scorn of a cat. At least, not for long.

It had hardly been a week since he offended the creature and here he was cutting the tiniest bit of meat from his prime rib with the intention of a peace offering. The truth was, he'd missed Persephone's pestering at mealtimes and occasionally feeling her rub against his boots as he walked along the corridors or sat in his office--it was a small pleasure, but surely even he deserved a small pleasure every once in awhile?

If he had been a religious man, he would have prayed Professor Zahir would keep her gaze fixed on whatever it was to her right that interested her. As he was not, he could merely hope while he held out the bit of meat in his two fingers. He was rewarded with the rough rasp of a tongue against the tips of his finger and thumb and a deep purr of approval.

* * * * *

Persephone's sudden purr surprised Zahirah enough that she turned to look at the kneazle and caught a glimpse of an elegant, long fingered hand being drawn away in a rush. Her gaze traveled the length of the hand, up the arm, to confirm that, yes, it was firmly attached to the body of Professor Severus 'Cold-hearted Bastard Extraordinaire' Snape. Oh, he didn't appear to have moved from his normal position: back straight, eyes forward, with his free hand politely in his lap--but she thought she saw the ghost of a smile on his thin lips. She had unmistakably seen him move away from Persephone, and that combined with the kneazle's sudden fit of contentment...

"Did you just feed Persephone?" she asked, unable to keep the amusement from enriching her voice, unable to keep from asking the question. Persephone purred more loudly than ever.

Snape barely turned his head enough to look at the pair of them, even the memory of the smile gone from his angled face. Zahirah had grown used to his various scowls and sneers and so managed not to flinch at the hard look of hatred in his black eyes. "You seem to have forgotten to whom you are speaking, Professor Zahir." His voice was even colder than usual. She couldn't keep the smirk from her lips.

"Defensive, Professor Snape?" That really got him: he turned his face to the front again and glowered silently as if to say her query wasn't plausible enough to deserve a response. Zahirah chuckled quietly to herself and gave Persephone a choice bit of meat for providing the amusement.

The kneazle didn't refuse her gift, but didn't stay in her lap, either, apparently preferring the lap of one Professor Snape. Persephone hopped into the man's black-clad lap without interrupting her purr and proceeded to settle down with her long tail trailing off of his thigh.

A quick glance at the students made Zahirah believe that none of them noticed the feline face above Snape's plate. Professor Sprout, however, was looking at them in undisguised shock--their quiet, if biting, exchange must have caught her attention and now the sight of Snape with a kneazle in his lap kept it. Zahirah barely stifled the laugh that threatened to bubble over when Professor Sprout gasped because not only was Snape holding the kneazle, but he was also feeding it from his fingers.

Unsure if she could hold her tongue or her amusement if any of the others asked her or Snape about it, Zahirah thought a safe retreat was the best option. With a last look at the content Persephone, she pushed her chair back, folded her napkin, and left the table, sure the kneazle was in good hands with Snape.

**-----**

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

As always, thanks go out to my beta team: Mike, Joyce, and my official Sugarquill beta reader, Jedi Boadicea.


	3. Chapter 3

**_The Auspice of Mars_**

**Chapter 3.**

Zahirah knew that the centaurs were not nearly as safe wherever they were as Persephone was with Professor Snape. She knew, not academically, as she had been taught to know things, but knew instead with an unshakable sense of dread. Though she had been venturing into the Forbidden Forest nightly while performing her duties as caretaker of the grounds, she had seen not a single stargazing centaur. She had raised her face to the stars, examined places they were the most visible, followed tracks and half-tracks into the obscurity of dense brush and groundcover, but still she had not come face to face with any of the race she had been so comfortable with for so long. 

There were other creatures in the forest-- small ones that scattered beneath Mika'il's hooves, larger ones that slunk away from her wandlight grudgingly, and the largest still that skulked just on the edges of it, waiting for her to falter. The almost palpable malevolence made her skin prick between her shoulder blades and up her neck to the base of her skull. It was an unpleasant experience, to be hunted, but also to be feared. She knew that Hagrid had no wand, that he would have carried a lantern through the woods. He would have been accompanied by that great lout of a cowardly dog, as well. He was the one those creatures were familiar with-- weren't they supposed to attack anyone else? Was there something in the charms around the forest to protect its protectors? Or was something else discouraging the big predators?

The best place to find answers to questions of all kinds was in books. Zahirah raided her shelf as well as the third section of her trunk, which held a veritable library on magical creatures and habitat maintenance. She poured over her journals and logs from the time she'd spent in the field with centaurs, when she practically lived among them on the island of Crete. 

For all of her reading and for all of her rereading of both her books and volumes from the Hogwarts' library, she still couldn't find anything that contradicted what she knew to be true about centaurs. They were highly intelligent creatures with the appearance of being half-man and half-horse melded into a form that first bent the eye's perception, and then pleased it. While their origins were unknown, myth and popular opinion held them to have begun in the area known as Greece, spreading later to all corners of the world to gain new perceptions and angles on their beloved stars. The centaurs chose their classification as 'beasts' to avoid as much contact and intermingling of ideas with the wizard world as possible: they viewed any interference in any course of events as interference with the fate carefully charted by the night sky. Most pertinent to Zahirah's particular situation was their tendency to want to study the stars from a single location throughout their lives so that they better understood the implications of all the heavenly bodies and their interactions with each other. That fact alone made it highly unlikely that an entire herd of centaurs had migrated to another area and abandoned their lifetime clearings in such a magically rich forest.

Zahirah couldn't remember the name of the current idiot occupying the Office for Centaur Affairs- - it had regained its time-tested stigma of the last place an incompetent worked before getting sacked. Even so, maybe he knew something about a gathering. If she remembered correctly, the office had always been sent brief reports on the activities of various herds from field experts. At the very least, she could have the records checked for precedent. 

She penned the letter one night before giving up the research for the hands on work and abandoning her books and notes for the forest. She detailed what she needed to know down to the letter, even including references to where she believed the records would be if they existed: she had sent a couple of inquiries about the general state of the centaur habitats just after she was promoted and received confused answers until she wrote what she wanted point by point. That was a mistake she wouldn't make again.

That night's foray into the magical forest was as fruitless as those over the preceding month had been. The nights of the week she spent waiting for a response to her letter were no better. The creatures of the forest kept even further away from her as the week went on; even the predators were becoming more reluctant to approach instead of less, and when she and Mika'il flew above them or walked among them cloaked in invisibility, she was beginning to be able to count ribs on some of the magical carnivores.

When she saw the non-descript Ministry owl gliding towards her, silent among the raucous cries of the students and other owls, her fork slipped from her fingers with a clatter in her haste to remove the envelope from the bird. She had her hands on the letter before the owl had a chance to settle beside her plate. The tearing sound of the envelope required investigation by Persephone. "No, not now," Zahirah muttered and pushed the inquiring nose away.

*****

The disgruntled noise the kneazle made surprised Severus more than feeling her move into his lap. She usually saved her angry noises for leaving his company, rather than joining it. He looked sharply at Professor Zahir- - the woman never did anything but coddle Persephone. He couldn't imagine what she had done to drive the feline to him. What he saw upset his previous conceptions of her: the usually perfectly-collected woman had gone pale under her dusky skin. He had before assumed that she was as impenetrable as was he. Now, he had to believe that there were things other than the kneazle on his lap that could break those walls. Thoughts of what those things might be filtered quickly through his mind as he observed her clenched jaw. The parchment in her hand was trembling more than the airflow around them merited.

His hand rose unconsciously to comfort the glowering kneazle, but his gaze didn't waver from her mistress. He might have made a fool of himself by continuing to stare, but Persephone was in no mood to be ignored and drew his attention with a sharp nip. The irony of having his attention drawn from a woman by an animal was not lost on Severus, but had anyone else pointed it out to him, he would have hexed them before they had finished voicing the observation. Instead, he settled his left hand on Persephone and resumed his meal without speaking to Professor Zahir.

He wasn't entirely sure, but he didn't think she ate any of the rest of the meal. He only hoped that no one misinterpreted his sidelong glances at the woman as anything but morbid curiosity. She was the first to leave the table, again leaving him to take care of Persephone, a situation that had become more frequent as the kneazle apparently pulled out all the stops when she decided that she would bestow her affections on someone.

She accompanied him to his classroom and assumed her by-now-familiar place on his desk. He hadn't yet heard any of the things the students were surely saying about his sudden tolerance for something that was undeniably both cute and friendly, but when he did he was well prepared to take off as many house points as he could without Dumbledore or McGonagall putting them back.

*****

"Professor Zahir looked really upset today at breakfast," Harry said, crossing the grounds to Care of Magical Creatures with Ron and Hermione.

"She left really fast, too. I bet that big-nosed git Snape said something to upset her."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Didn't you two notice the letter she got? I'm certain that it's what made her so upset. Besides, it's not as if she and Professor Snape fight."

Ron looked taken aback. "What do you mean by that?"

"Just that if you watch them at meals, they don't ever seem upset. Sometimes they both almost smile."

Harry was about to say that he had never seen either of them smile when Ron spoke up.

"Hermione, what were you doing watching them so much, anyway?"

Harry was ready to hear Hermione say something sharp to Ron about his overactive imagination, but was amazed to find her blushing and carrying on with no retort whatsoever.

"And," she continued, "Professor Zahir's kneazle likes him."

"I thought they were supposed to dislike the Dark Arts?" was Ron's grumbled, somewhat sulky response.

*****

Zahirah barely remembered teaching that day. Her mind had been firmly fixed on the news in the letter she received at breakfast. The information just kept rolling over and over in her mind along with dozens of possible implications. Unfortunately, the outcome of her thoughts was depressingly similar regardless of which explanation she chose to pursue. She decided she had to go and make precautions as well as she could or the foreboding darkness would color her thoughts until something snapped.

The fourth section of her trunk contained the things she would need for this-- and all further-- trips into the Forbidden Forest. Zahirah belted on black robes with a wide, black leather belt. The heavy quiver of short crossbow bolts she hung on the belt, wrapping the straps around it and checking the knots three times before she was satisfied. Two wickedly curved knives were slipped into slits in the leather to hold them in, but leave the blades exposed.

Only after she was properly girded did she draw the compact crossbow from her small arsenal. The enchanted weapon was specially licensed by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with the approval of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Commission. It was intended to stun its targets, to make the bolts like pre-charged stupefy spells, but Zahirah had learned a lot about it in the years she had possessed it. She murmured a spell and the crossbow seemed heavier, more real, less like something she was issued to keep stray pogreblins away and more like a weapon she was taking into battle.

Her heavy traveling cloak and Mika'il's invisibility were her armor and Persephone was her sentry. The kneazle, however, hadn't returned to her even after dark. She murmured the calling charm that she and Persephone were attuned to but felt no response-- no slackening of the brief pull the spell evoked. That meant she was still sulking, and Zahirah had a pretty good idea where she was. It was her fondest hope at that time that Snape stayed true to type and didn't ask questions.

She should have known better. The kneazle had worked her endearing feline magic on the straight-faced (if hook-nosed) Potions Master just as she had on Zahirah herself.

Professor Snape came to the door of his office with sneer fully in place. She refused to acknowledge the curiosity around his eyes when he realized who she was. She kept the thick cloak pulled closed around her, hiding the crossbow from him. "What?" he snapped at her, the curiosity quickly replaced with his usual blank annoyance.

"I'm certain you know 'what,' Professor," she said smoothly, again mocking him by parroting his word and tone back at him. Perhaps if she got him angry enough, he would forget to be curious. "I've come for Persephone. Surely you two haven't become so attached that you can't let her out of your sight." Bitterness crept into her voice, though she told herself it was part of the act.

"As you said yourself, Persephone is not a pet-- she goes where she pleases." Snape didn't change his expression at all as he spoke; it was as if he were the one who had worked years and years with centaurs.

Zahirah closed her eyes for a moment to try and regain her composure, something she hadn't had to do in a very long time: she shouldn't have thought of the centaurs, it made her stomach clench up unpleasantly.

Severus watched the emotions flit unchecked across her face. There was a time that his being an excellent reader of faces was necessary to his survival, but hers was usually closed even to him. She was so off balance, though, that her thoughts were plain to see: annoyance was overshadowed by fear, but forced to the front before the woman's exotic face became a mask again.

"I wish this were just a social call to trade insults and compete like children over a favorite person's affection, but it is not. I need Persephone to come with me, and I don't have all night to argue with you about it." He saw the muscle in her jaw contract as she snapped her mouth shut on the last cold word. Cold, yes, but he could hear the ragged edges around the control of her melodic voice.

He knew there was something very wrong, that she would have never spoken frankly if there wasn't. If there was something wrong, Dumbledore needed to know about it. If there was something wrong, she didn't need to be sneaking about, hiding in that black cloak and demanding a kneazle as a protector.

Severus expected her to be angry-- scared people anger easily-- but he didn't quite expect her to try and push past him. He was too surprised to push back. It had been a long time since anyone resisted him physically. Still, she had to move him to get through his half-open door. The sudden feel of another body against his was as unfamiliar as the kneazle's affection.

Later, he would realize that all of the human contact in his adult life had been hostile. Perhaps that's why he noticed Professor Zahir's small frame against him rather than the frustration behind the push. Perhaps that's why his body chose that moment to realize that Professor Zahir was not only a woman, but also a fairly attractive one at that.

Something more registered, though, in those short moments she pushed against him: there was something hidden underneath her cloak. Something solid and not at all like a wand or a robe, or the flesh underneath. It intruded on his traitorous body's evaluation of this witch as a woman. That she was hiding something reminded him that she was a person on a mission, and she required special equipment to do it.

He relented and moved back, if only to remove the contact so he could think without insidious, inappropriate thoughts creeping into his brain. Severus glowered more deeply at her once she was inside his spartan office. His brief unbalanced feeling and the unexpected, unwelcome reaction of his body did nothing good for his mood, already inflamed by her insistence and secrecy. Only his curiosity about her suddenly impulsive actions gave him the distance from his anger to coldly say, "Your use of force and your sulking about all day are quite Gryffindor. Are you sure you weren't Sorted here?" It wasn't a compliment, and he knew she realized that.

"Professor Snape, you have no idea what I am dealing with. Just keep out of my way and let me do my job." She glared up at him with a clenched jaw, almost baring her teeth.

Zahirah did not have time to argue, not if she had any intention of getting anything done. She wanted very much for Snape to just disappear and stop making her life difficult-- more difficult than it got that morning when the letter from the Ministry made her job at Hogwarts a lot more serious.

"Your job, Professor Zahir, I'm certain does not include rushing about like an agitated first year." His voice conveyed more scorn than even his words. His face was impassive, his dark eyes like obsidian chips. The man radiated stubborn immobility despite his physical retreat a few moments before.

His petty insults were getting them nowhere, and she didn't think telling him so would do any good. Instead, she walked past him and scooped Persephone up from her place by the small fireplace. Zahirah had no doubt that the kneazle had known why she was at Snape's office from the moment she knocked on the door. If she didn't need Persephone's cooperation right now, she'd have several things to say about that defection.

"Excuse me, Professor Snape, I have work to do." She swept out of the room with Persephone growling in her arms. Sometimes retreat was the best option-- it even had the added bonus of infuriating Snape to the point of rigid speechlessness. He very nearly gaped like a fish at her disrespectful departure.

Zahirah had quite a time holding onto Persephone. The kneazle was making her protest known so insistently that Zahirah hoped the wailing 'meows' weren't attracting attention. The last thing she needed was to run into that pretentious Filch.

"Persephone, I'm sorry I got upset this morning," she whispered as she clung to the angry animal.

Her strides carried them quickly down the stone corridor and into the blackness of the wet night. "I need your help, Persephone. I don't know what's out there." The kneazle must have sensed the desperation in her voice because she stopped her abused yeowling and leaned up to touch her nose to Zahirah's chin. The woman barely noticed the comforting touch, she barely noticed herself talking until she had to stop to whistle and murmur the Calling spell for Mika'il.

A disconcerting rippling of the darkness materialized into the winged horse. She would always be awed at the sight of him: a magnificent creature carved from night, blacker than black because of the wet. His muscles gleamed along his arched neck and deep chest back to his powerful flanks. He bowed his head and lowered his wings in invitation for her to mount.

"Mika'il," she said, the familiar sounds and syllables of the language rolling from her tongue. She spoke quietly to him in Arabic, her voice finally without the ragged edges that had touched it since she received the letter. There was no more waiting, anticipating, fearing what she would find in the Forest. Now, she would find out.

She took comfort in his strength, in the warmth of his muscles and flesh beneath her. She leaned into his neck as the surge of power in the take off threatened to push her to the ground.

Disappearing into the forest was disconcerting with the reaching trees closing around them and her own body shimmering out of existence with Mika'il and Persephone. She felt for the crossbow, its cold length on her leg in sharp contrast to the soft warmth of the kneazle braced between her stomach and Mika'il's feathered withers.

This time, she was looking for something different. This time, she was hoping that she wouldn't find what she was looking for. Water dripped from the heavy leaves and black branches surrounding her-- the rain had stopped, but how many days had it been drizzling in this Scottish autumn? How many opportunities for disaster had there already been? What might she find beneath the trees?

Mika'il flew just above the thick tangle of trunks and branches, agilely maneuvering around the tallest of the trees. There were no stars to light their way with silver, only the dull gleam behind the heavy cloud-cover that marked the position of the half moon. Zahirah narrowed her eyes against the occasional light drizzle and the screen of the dark, damp leaves, trying to see through the umbrella of foliage. Periodically, she urged the thestral down through the canopy of leaves.

The bleakness of the forest floor was emphasized by the lack of life that usually livened it. There was nothing scurrying about on the sodden, dead leaves, nothing flitting through the lower branches of the trees, nothing stalking and nothing being stalked through the underbrush. She saw signs still that there had been many things there, but the creatures themselves were in hiding.

Then, suddenly below them on one of their dips into the dank branches was a scene that made Persephone huddle against her in silence. Broken bodies lay strewn on the forest floor, left to rot on the wet ground. The creatures had not died easily: blood and gore and fur and feathers littered the mud and leaves.

Zahirah's hands tightened in Mika'il's mane. She fought the urge to retch at the carnage, her eyes locked on the wreckage of life below her, unable to turn away. Everything from common squirrels to red caps to fwoopers had died in the mass slaughter. And there. There was a wing so big and tawny it could only have belonged to a griffin.

The thestral trembled under her, but held his position in the air. She smoothed one hand over his neck, and, unfrozen, loaded the crossbow with the other. Grateful for the enchantments, she slid the bolt in the track and let the magic draw the heavy string into position.

So it was true. The Ministry's missing chimera egg had been stolen and relocated somewhere it would incubate. Not sold, nor traded, but planted here in the magic of the Forbidden Forest. But it was egg no longer.

She had to get out of there. Terror seized her suddenly at the thought of what even a newly-hatched chimera could do to a witch, armed or not. They had to leave before it came back for a second bloodbath. Mika'il responded eagerly to the pressure on his side. He banked and flew back the way they came.

The tightening in her stomach while they flew back towards the beacon of lights that was Hogwarts had nothing to do with fear or nausea. Why hadn't she been told when the chimera egg went missing? There were only a few places in the Ministry's domain that were magical enough to incubate a chimera egg-- the Forbidden Forest was one of them. And the egg, deliberately placed would hatch- - had hatched, she reminded herself- - into three of the voracious beasts. If she had known about the missing egg she could have searched the Forest before the rain and the magic had a chance to wake the dormant shell. Even if she had known just a few weeks ago, before or just after the three hatchlings had turned upon each other in a birth-battle to the death, there would have been a chance she could have exterminated the survivor without much risk while it gorged on the corpses of its siblings.

But now-- Now the chimera was marking its territory with death, and she knew from her recent research that the killing wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop until the beast cleared the entire forest of anything it considered a threat. It had to be at full growth, if not final maturity, to have embarked on its killing spree. The fear returned to chill her to the bone: there was only one recorded slaying of a full-grown chimera. That wizard didn't survive the victory much longer than the monster he killed so many millennia ago.

She dismounted by Hagrid's cabin, but didn't take her hand from Mika'il's neck. Thus far, she had trusted that the thestral would keep himself safe: his invisibility and fighting skill should have been sufficient to keep him from falling prey to the predators in the Forbidden Forest. That was before there was a rare Greek monster staining the leaves on the forest floor red with the blood of its victims.

The thestral had never taken well to being stabled, but Zahirah felt she had no choice. "_Khahl_," she murmured to the animal in a lower undertone, asking him to follow before stepping away. He followed, not breaking the contact between them even as they moved towards the pasture beside Hagrid's cabin. Releasing the tactile bond, she whispered an apology and then a spell to keep him from leaving the enclosure.

She held Persephone close as she walked away from the paddock, not releasing the kneazle to follow at her own pace as usual. She was blocking out the memories of the ground in the Forbidden Forest, concentrating on what she had to do, but Persephone's warmth was still a comfort in the wet night.

Dumbledore would need to be informed, though at this point there was no need to disturb his sleep: there was nothing that could be done in a hurry to combat such a dangerous creature as now occupied the Hogwarts grounds. She could tell him in the morning before she had her classes. What would she tell him? He surely hadn't known about the chimera egg or he would have let her know. But she hadn't told him about the centaurs. Now that seemed like a gross oversight-- he might have been able to get information from the Ministry before her. It rankled to think that someone else might be more up to date about her own department, but she was afraid it was the truth.

Morning came too soon for her tired body and her troubled mind. She ached from the tension of the day before, and removing herself from the warmth of the bed was the last thing she wanted to do. Persephone was curled against her under the duvet instead of in her usual place at the foot of the bed. The kneazle hadn't slept so close to her since she was a kitten.

"Seph," she mumbled, touching the feline's back to wake her. "Seph, we have to get up. We have things to do." She was trying to convince herself more than her companion. The 'things to do' were cloudy, uncomfortable demands that she was trying not to consider in sharper focus.

They reluctantly stretched protesting muscles and climbed from the haven of the bed. The stone against her feet was a wake up call, finally jarring her into the unwelcome waking world with its responsibilities and danger and death. Too much death. She steeled herself against her churning stomach while the sights of last night flashed in front of her mind's eye with disgusting detail.

*****

Severus went to breakfast immediately after leaving Dumbledore's office. Professor Zahir's behavior the night before had been strange enough to merit a conversation with the Headmaster. Though the students thought him omniscient, Severus knew differently. Information had to come from somewhere, and he was well practiced in passing things on to Albus Dumbledore.

So, he had learned to be particularly observant. Even if he hadn't, he would have been paying special attention to Professor Zahir that morning to see if she was still as upset as she had been the day before. He was sitting at the end of the table in time to observe her entrance through narrowed eyes. Just thinking about her brought back the emotions of last night; he ground his teeth in spite of his resolve that he would not let her childish display affect his public image. She had angered him even before she walked out, as if he was the one being irrational when it was she who had acted without reason. After that, he had barely maintained the control to keep himself from storming after her and forcing her to take heed of him, to stop hiding whatever it was that distressed her so much and to take it to Professor Dumbledore as she ought. He had decided that she was going to continue to disregard him and his best course of action would be to inform the Headmaster at his first opportunity.

Her appearance confirmed his conviction. She looked as if she had hardly slept and there was a bloodlessness about her that made her look grey instead of brown. That hat looked even more precariously perched than usual and Severus became certain that more than natural gravity held it over her haggard face.

She did not even look at him when she dropped into her place at the table. No grumpy 'good morning,' no half-smile of greeting, not even an acknowledgement of his presence. She looked so worn out that he almost felt compassion for her; hadn't he known those mornings? His, though, had been in service to Dumbledore and not because of whatever this woman was doing of her own accord. The hint of compassion was replaced by suspicion and the righteous anger of the night before. Not even Persephone's gentle attention to her mistress, surely an indication of the woman's state of mind, lessoned his simmering anger.

He divided his glowers between Professor Zahir and the student body, trying to avoid undue attention to her, but thinking of her nonetheless. What had she done that required the kneazle's help-- he couldn't bring himself to think 'protection.' Where was she going in that thick black cloak on a dreary, wet night? And what had he felt under that cloak? Severus discouraged his rebellious mind from supplying the obvious and frustrating 'curves' as an answer. That she was a woman with a woman's body did nothing to change her possible treachery. He should have learned that lesson well enough during his time as a Death Eater.

Admittedly, he had never seen a Death Eater look so disgusted at the sight of traditional English bacon and sausage. But Professor Zahir turned away at the smell and covered her mouth with her napkin. She waved away her usual breakfast, not turning back to the table until her golden plate was again empty and clean. Instead, she took a piece of dry toast from the center of the table and broke it into pieces. She ate it slowly, with necessity.

Persephone would receive nothing from those hands that morning, but she held none of her previous indignation. She touched her nose to the woman's wrist and mewed softly. Professor Zahir murmured something that sounded suspiciously like, "Get him to feed you."

Get him to feed her. Since when was he part of the kneazle's support staff? He didn't believe he was, even though he started cutting up his sausage into Persephone-sized bites before he felt the slight weight of her against his legs. The creature did have to eat, after all-- it wasn't her fault that Professor Zahir had lost every scrap of mature responsibility she possessed.

The rest of the meal passed in the slow agony of people who must be civil but wish nothing more than to resume the open confrontation that marred their otherwise entertaining banter. Severus was only just managing civility because of the complete lack of interaction between himself and Professor Zahir. It was a different silence than their usual comfort-- it was a silence hung with unspoken questions and anger and almost palpable fear.

Fear. That was just it. There was fear about Professor Zahir's manner, fear underscored by Persephone's gentle treatment. Severus knew that Professor Zahir ventured into the Forbidden Forest almost nightly without a hint of the demoralizing emotion he saw in her now even through her well-practiced mask of impartiality. So if there was something there now that caused such a change, why did she not inform someone? Her excursion during the night had increased her fear, but that fear had permeated her actions since she had received that letter the day before. Severus felt like he was slamming his head into a wall over and over with the same unanswered question: if she was so upset, so afraid, why did she not ask for help? What was she hiding? He intended to discover what it was and to tell Dumbledore at the first opportunity.

She rose from her seat at the first moment it was polite and he followed directly. Persephone went with her mistress, keeping close to her ankles yet amazingly out of the way. Severus could have followed them if he were blind: the chiming jingle that marked Professor Zahir's steps was easy to follow through the quiet corridors of the castle.

Once they were a suitable distance from the Great Hall, he increased his stride and caught up with her. "I see your little errand last night was good for you. You look like twice-warmed hell." He grabbed her upper arm when she made no move to stop at his growl.

She responded with something low and guttural in a tone that made the literal meaning of the foreign words superfluous. He held fast to her arm though she tried to wrench it away. His long fingers in the muscle of her arm would probably leave bruises, but he paid that no attention.

"I don't know what you are up to, but I assure you that I will not allow you to put this school in danger." He used his most menacing hiss, the quiet, malevolent one that made the blood drain from students' faces.

The bleak look in Professor Zahir's eyes when she turned to face him proved the threat in his voice didn't impress her. "Professor Snape," she said, all formality, "may I remind you that you are not the only one concerned with the safety of Hogwarts and, at the risk of being repetitive, you have absolutely no idea what I am dealing with." She was dismissing him again. In the face of his barely-concealed anger she was a block of unimpressionable ice, as nonplussed by his words and grip as if he had enquired about the weather at tea.

"I have no idea because you refuse to tell anyone, whether because of your own stupidity or treachery I don't know." He leaned heavily on the word 'treachery,' his fingers tightening on her tense arm.

Persephone's sudden hiss was unnecessary to inform him of the woman's anger. The bleak look in her eyes was replaced with a flash of anger, light reflecting from the one he could see with the narrowing of it. "Are you so arrogant you can't see beyond your own substantial nose? I was not informed that you were to be told of all the happenings of Hogwarts and I'm not about to start explaining myself to you. You are not the Headmaster and whether or not you need to be privy to the details of my job is at his discretion.

"I confess I am at a loss as to understand why you believe this is your problem to deal with." The tension drained from her, he felt it through her arm. Her last statement wasn't angry or defensive; she seemed to have spent the energy she had for ire in her little rant. Still, it wasn't quite giving into him. It was an honest inquiry, a need to understand, and possibly an opening to discussion like rational adults rather than the childish baiting they'd exchanged since her tirade and abrupt exit the night before.

"You burst into my office like the apocalypse was coming and expect me not to wonder why? Not to be concerned for the security of the school?" He still didn't release her, she might be almost open to discussion, but she still refused to see his position. He felt the sarcasm in his question even as he tried to acknowledge her question.

"I do not have time for this. I don't have to report to you any more than I have to clear my comings and goings with Argus Filch and that mangy creature he calls a cat." He read that message loud and clear. She had told him before that she was not to be treated like a student, and she was as good as telling him again. Her anger had returned, resurrected itself to combat his scorn. He could feel it in the tension in her arm, see it in the narrow glare on her face. "But I do have to report to the Headmaster, and I have something of great importance to the security of the school to discuss with him. So if you are genuinely concerned with the school and not with soothing your own hurt ego, let me go so I can get on with it."

She was standing facing him now, drawn up to her full height and looking up at him with determined defiance. She was so close he could see the veins in the pale circle under her visible eye. He wanted to reach out and slap the impertinent defiance from her face. Her logic, unfortunately, was flawless. He had no authority over her.

He wanted to pull her closer, to tower over her and growl a threat, but common sense told him that he didn't have the right to do that, either, that it would only give her more of a right to disdain him and then he might never know what she was hiding. The warning sirens in the back of his mind told him that if she got any closer his common sense might short out again and he'd forget about finding out what she was up to. Damnable woman-- he had no reason to be attracted to her and every reason to be suspicious, but his body refused to acknowledge that simple truth. Better he get away from her before he gave into one urge or the other. She had at least decided to talk to Dumbledore, if not to include him in the confidence. That would do.

Severus released her arm, almost pushing her away as he did. Persephone hissed warningly again as Professor Zahir almost failed to recover her balance. He whirled and walked away before he could catch the confusion clear on her face.

-----

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made.

As always, thanks go out to my beta team: Mike, Joyce, and my official Sugarquill beta reader, Jedi Boadicea.


	4. Chapter 4

**_The Auspice of Mars_******

**Chapter 4.**

     Zahirah stood where Professor Snape had left her. For a brief moment she had thought he was going to hit her-- even Persephone had gone defensive-- but he had not; he had released her, seeming to come to some decision within himself. 

     She shook herself. She had gone from equal to inferior in his eyes and that was something she would not stand for, but now was not the time to have it out with him. She had something to do that was far more important than her personal pride or a little spat with Professor Snape.

     Over and over she had rehearsed what she would say-- how to convey the horror she saw. The justifications for her actions seemed so shallow in the face of reality. In a way, Snape was right. She had been secretive. She should have seen the Headmaster sooner. She felt that were she to look back on her months at Hogwarts, she would see the actions she should have taken drawn out for her like a first year Charms primer. Dumbledore should have been informed as soon as she had realized there was something very wrong in the Forbidden Forest.****

      "Butterscotch disk," she told the stone gargoyle. Persephone took one look at the moving stone creature and tore off down the corridor with an abused yowl. Zahirah was beginning to doubt the kneazle's usefulness as a companion. 

     Professor Dumbledore greeted her by name without looking up. She couldn't help glancing at the perch in the corner of the office-- his phoenix had been absent during her initial job interview. He was there now, looking bedraggled: a featherless, wrinkled hatchling. A disturbing image of the magical bird under the claws of a self-satisfied kneazle made her briefly glad Persephone was so frazzled. Even at this ugly stage, a phoenix was a fascinating thing. Maybe this one would consent to an examination?

     "Fawkes has had better days, but it appears so have you."  She imagined under different circumstances the gentle comment would have set her at ease; as it was, the Headmaster's words brought her back to the reason for her visit with unwelcome force.

     "Excuse me, sir." She couldn't quite bring herself to meet the great man's eyes. "I didn't mean to waste your time." 

     "Think nothing of it, Professor Zahir, or may I be so familiar as to use Zahirah?" 

     She nodded her assent-- resolution or no, she doubted there was any keeping Albus Dumbledore from knowing her if he set his mind to it, even if she had managed to avoid his invitations to tea thus far. 

     "I suppose you would like some tea?" 

     Had he known what she was thinking? He was smiling at her, his hand poised over a kettle, two cups waiting.

     "Sir--" 

     He waved off the honorific. "My dear Zahirah, if you allow me the familiarity of your given name, I beg that you use mine." He poured himself a cup while waiting for her to answer.

     She circumvented his inquiry about tea, pressing on with what she needed to say. "I came because I found something in the forest last night."  She kept her hands folded in her lap and tried to ignore the feeling that she was in trouble. After all of her anger at Filch and Professor Snape for treating her like a student, she was doing it to herself.

     "I'd love to hear all about it, but won't you tell me how you take your tea? Or," realization dawned on his face, "I suppose it's coffee, isn't it?" He reached around for an ibrik and poured the rich black liquid.

     The smell was heavenly. That was real coffee, roasted the old Muggle way, the kind her father had his family send them, ground into a fine powder to boil. Dumbledore poured with the expert tremble that ensured the correct amount of foam and just enough sediment for reading. She accepted the cup, wrapped her chilled hands around it and breathed the spice and sugar and smell of her grandmother's home. It had been years since she'd had boiled coffee she hadn't made herself.

     The headmaster again captured her attention, drawing her from the aromas of memory, "Now, what was it you found that so interested you in the forest?" 

     She jerked herself upright in the overstuffed chair she had allowed herself to sink into. "I received some disturbing news yesterday by owl from my Department at the Ministry." The coffee was put aside-- she was too apt to slip into the comfort of it, to let her exhausted mind drift to past contentment and then into sleep. 

     "I had written them to reference some records regarding a phenomenon in the Forbidden Forest." She took a steadying breath. The wizard in front of her remained interested, quiet, waiting for her to continue.

     "You know I have a background in Centaur Affairs; I felt the centaurs here might be helpful in getting to know the Forest-- but I've found no trace of them since my arrival here." Two and a half months was a long time not to have mentioned this to Dumbledore.

     He sat up and put down his tea. "Missing?"  She had his full attention now, his usually-twinkling eyes sharp on her, glittering like shattered ice. "They have been missing for two months and only now you come to me?" There was a hint gravel in his voice.

     "Yes, sir," Zahirah felt the formality was appropriate, despite his earlier words. She held her voice steady, calm in spite of her cold stomach. "I have been investigating their disappearance. I believe I know centaurs better than any wizard, and so did not feel the need to disturb you." She steeled herself-- she spoke the truth as she saw it, and could not get defensive about it despite the overbearing feeling of inadequacy. 

     "And it did not occur to you, Zahirah, that someone else might have more insight into the workings of this particular Forest?" 

     "It has been my experience that centaurs behave in similar manners regardless of habitat. I had several theories as to the reason for this disappearance." She pressed on, forcing herself motionless, keeping the doubt from infusing her voice. 

     "My first thought was that they had gathered elsewhere for a meeting, a mass stargazing, as they sometimes do. I have been out of Centaur Affairs for two years and it would not be beyond the realm of possibility that I would be unaware of a gathering. I received word that this was not the case. Since then, I have been doing a good bit of research in both my personal books and the library here. It was only yesterday that a reply to my further inquiries into the centaur records arrived." She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. The way she presented the next bit of information could remove her from immediate blame and focus the headmaster's attention elsewhere, but she felt incredibly inadequate to the task of manipulating Albus Dumbledore. She didn't feel clearheaded enough to even attempt such a thing on the great man, but she didn't have other options if she wanted to maintain her credibility.

     "Unfortunately, the current occupant of the Centaur Office could not find anything that might explain their disappearance. He did, however, inadvertently give me the most plausible reason yet for the centaurs' evacuation of the Forbidden Forest." She chose her words as carefully as she could without losing her natural speech flow. 

      "Sir, I have been informed in a most casual postscript that a chimera egg in the possession of the department was stolen almost two months ago." She was almost afraid to hold his gaze, to see the reaction the news brought out. 

     There was a power in the old man so deeply rooted and held so humbly one almost forgot she was dealing with one of the most powerful wizards the world had ever seen. She did not forget it now. If he had been upset before, he was furious now. He gathered his authority around him like a mantle he usually left aside. "A chimera egg went missing and no one in your department thought it advisable that the caretakers of the magical places in the world be warned?

    "You went into the forest last night." It was a statement infused with a question-- a dangerous question; a question on which hung the heavy weight of meaning.

     "The egg hatched here, sir. Once I knew what to look for-- well, it wasn't hard to find, but, sir, what I found--" Even in her need to tell Dumbledore, even with his awesome authority around him, she had to stop, to swallow, to regain control of her stomach. The images came unbidden, unwanted, sickening in their vividness. "It's started." She turned away, unable to watch his reaction; unable to witness what she was sure would be an awful silence. She had to escape, for just a moment, to think of something other than the strewn corpses and fur and bone, pictures and scents she was too tired to banish.

     "My dear, I'm afraid you have seen something terrible." His voice was shockingly calm, almost obscenely calm against the images in her head. He reached for her coffee cup to refill it, handing it back to her as he spoke. "But we can only react to things we do not have the foresight to prevent."

     Zahirah took the mug, drinking the soothing drink unconsciously. Dumbledore's words were incongruous with his previous emotion. He was going on in the same matter of fact manner: everything was under control in his mind. Silence overtook the office and Zahirah realized he was looking expectantly at her. Had he asked a question?

     "Do you have any ideas about precautions?" he repeated with no accusing infliction in his voice. 

     "No one should go in alone." It was hard to focus, to wrap her mind around solutions rather than slipping into a hazy daze. "The students might be best kept away from it altogether." It would become necessary soon. The creature's range would increase tenfold daily. "I didn't see it, sir-- "

     She was cut off again by a headshake and a benign smile. "Albus," he said firmly. 

     She remained silent while she re-gathered her thoughts after the interruption. "From our new information, from the Ministry, and from what I-- what evidence I've found of its growth, I estimate we have a couple of months before it reaches full maturity. We need to find it before then, and we have to do something to protect the creatures in the Forbidden Forest before we do."  Even in her rambling explanation, through her muddled mind, she tried to convey the knowledge that the balance in the forest had to be protected from the unstoppable predator.

     The headmaster nodded in agreement. "I suggest you discuss it with Professor Lupin when you ask him to accompany you into the Forest."

     He caught her in the middle of a long sip of coffee. She narrowed her eyes at him. When she did what? "There's no need for that. I can take care of myself."

     There was a slight crinkle to his mouth. "I'm sure you can, but did you not say that no one should go in alone? Professor Lupin will be going into the forest on my request. He's a Defense Against the Dark Arts expert; I trust him to help you, and you to help him."

     "I had extensive training in detecting and disarming dark magic-- my family has a long history of defense. My grandfather, and my great grandfather, and all of my uncles . . .  They are what you would call Aurors, I think." Certainly she had spent enough time working with her cousins and uncles during holidays in addition to the comprehensive training she had at school. In theory, anyway. 

     "Professor Lupin has intimate knowledge of the Forbidden Forest; I don't doubt your abilities for a moment, but I would feel more confident if he took a look as well, and I will not risk either of your going in alone.

     "You look exhausted," and then he was just the kindly, eccentric old man again, "Why don't you take the morning off and get some sleep. You can speak to Remus when you're more refreshed."

     He put down the tea cup and picked up a thick roll of parchment. She was dismissed and she was certain that no amount of reason would sway Dumbledore's decision, at least not any reason she could come up with in her current mental state.

     "I hope you wake rested, and that you'll come see Fawkes sometime when he's in better shape," he said just before she exited the room.

     There were really no words in either language she knew to describe the relief at making it to her rooms without meeting anyone she had to talk to. She was fairly certain she'd thanked Dumbledore before leaving the office, but the whole last half of the conversation was hazy around the edges like a badly charmed photograph. The walk through the corridors was a surreal experience only heightened by the changing staircases and visiting portraits. She fell into bed without registering the absence of Persephone.

*****

     Severus had second year Hufflepuffs first thing. That gave him plenty of opportunity to think about what in the world Professor Zahir was doing in the Forbidden Forest at night. What had happened to break that hard mask into such exhaustion and fear? And the kneazle-- so conciliatory, so protective. 

     "You dice the root, not shred," he snapped at some anonymous boy. Severus barely broke his attention from the internal monologue to scold the student. The Forbidden Forest was so close to Hogwarts, to Dumbledore and Potter and him. What if Professor Zahir had seen something Death Eaters had done? Would she recognize it? She certainly didn't seem inclined to report anything she may or may not have seen in her almost nightly excursions. 

     He knew he was close to overreacting. The woman probably had a run-in with a boggart or something equally as inane. The Forbidden Forest was grown up around the grounds to protect the school-- surely Voldemort wasn't powerful enough to disrupt the creatures there. It would take something immense to gain a foothold in the magical habitat. 

     Stifled giggles caught his attention: giggles meant some idiot was trying to be clever and would probably end up covered in thick green fur or screaming boils. Severus looked up and saw not a stupid child aiming a wand at a cauldron, but a puffed up kneazle skittering across the dungeon towards him. Oh, please, he thought, _not now. _

     "Ten points from Hufflepuff for failure to focus on the task at hand," he bit out before the ball of fur was at his feet and trying to climb his robes. His scowl was in no way put on to cow the children back into looking only at their books, though it had that effect as well. That woman, Severus seethed, should not be allowed to keep a pet-- regardless of what she called it-- if she couldn't control it. Some magical creature expert. Obviously, he was doing a better job of calming the kneazle huddled in his arms than she had.

     He was cradling the large feline in one arm, his billowing robes swathing her in black, almost concealing her, and calmed her with murmured words and soft strokes with his free hand. The faster the kneazle settled down, the faster he could get her out of his classroom. 

     His growled reassurances whispered back at him: echoed through the room. The sound of cutting, stirring, and rustling robes that masked the sound before had ceased and his low voice was easily audible over the gentle bubbling of the cauldrons. Again he looked up. Twenty-two eyes were staring back at him. Eleven snaggle-toothed mouths hung open. The insolent, stupid, useless Hufflepuffs were gaping at him in undisguised amazement while he comforted the creature in his arms. The incredulousness was less than flattering; getting caught in such a soft act was infuriating. "Get out!" he roared, and the dungeon again reverberated with his voice.

     The Hufflepuffs fled.

     And then he had to comfort Persephone all over again, having sent her into another fit of trembling. One thing was certain: there was no way in hell he was going to Pomfrey to have the deep scratches in his arm healed.

*****

     "He was what?" Ron, wide-eyed, spoke around a particularly large bite of pot roast. 

     Seamus Finnigan nodded gleefully. "'S what they say. Th' bugger was right near cuddling it-- an' when he realized they was lookin' at him, he yelled 'em out o' th' dungeon as angry as y' ever seen him."

     Harry doubted that, remembering the Potion master's enraged face towering over Sirius. But still-- Snape with a cat?

     "I _told_ you she liked him," Hermione said over the top of a book. 

     Neville was the only one among them who looked worried.  "I just hope Professor Zahir's okay. The Ravenclaws said she wasn't in class this morning, and that Professor Sprout had them weed Hagrid's garden instead." 

     "She was at breakfast." Hermione looked up at the head table. She wasn't the only one to check for the Care of Magical Creatures professor. She might be unapproachable and cold, but at least she hadn't made them walk blast-ended skrewts or tame hippogriffs.

     "They're both gone," Harry said, inciting a fresh wave of speculation about the whereabouts and conditions of the two professors.

*****

    Zahirah had previously had little occasion to venture from her ground-floor suite to the heights of the castle, but for the second time that day she was ascending the stairs to the loftier corridors, this time to seek out Professor Lupin's office.  She was alone in the great stone passageways, her dancing anklet echoing loudly against the space. Persephone padded along with her, close about her feet as she had been since she awoke. 

     Lupin might be a Dark Arts expert, as Dumbledore said, but what good would that do against the chimera? Dark arts were used by wizards against wizards, not by creatures, and certainly not against a monster with skin as resistant as this one. What she needed was an expert on chimeras. 

     Any specialist on chimeras, however, would have to be strictly academic. Zahirah couldn't think of a single sighting of a chimera in the last thousand years, and of course the only known slaying was by Perseus centuries and centuries before Rome. Perhaps someone well versed in mythology might be useful. 

     But thing held true at Hogwarts: Dumbledore's orders were unquestionable. So, she would ask Lupin to go into the forest for the Headmaster, regardless of her opinion about the usefulness of a Defense Against the Dark Arts professional in the situation. After all, if she objected, someone would surely tell her that Dumbledore had his reasons and remind her of his legendary insight. So it went with bosses everywhere-- their word was indisputable. There was just less red tape than with her and Department Head Tomas Nunden.

     She knocked on Professor Lupin's door and waited. Two students came around the corner holding hands and the girl squeaked when she caught sight of the stone-faced Care of Magical Creatures professor. The boy dropped her hand like it had burned him and the two of them walked past on egg shells, heads held high. It was then that Zahirah recognized them as sixth year Gryffindors. Perhaps Gryffindor Tower was nearby-- she was certainly high enough in the castle to merit the name.

     She was watching the students slink off when Professor Lupin opened the door. He hid his surprise well, but not fast enough to keep Zahirah from seeing it. She inclined her head slightly to acknowledge that the reaction was justified. 

     "Professor Zahir. Is there something I can help you with?" It only took Lupin time enough to finish speaking her name to decide on a course of action. Zahirah could hear the renewed confidence in his voice. It didn't keep him from giving her a good once over, though: evaluating her, his eyes pausing, she noted with habitual annoyance, on her low slung hat. They never asked-- just accepted it wordlessly and wondered, then forgot about it after a while. It was better than the alternative. 

     "Professor Dumbledore suggested that I come and discuss a few things with you, Professor Lupin. It's a matter of some urgency." She could see the red-orange tinge to the light in his room-- night was fast approaching and she needed to be out there again, to direct her search more carefully. 

     "Do come in," he said politely, staving off his obvious curiosity long enough to step aside and let her in. "Can I get you some tea? Anything for your kneazle?" 

     "Nothing for me, thank you, but if you would be so generous as to serve Persephone a little cream? I missed dinner tonight and I don't know if Prof-- if she got anything or not." Had she really come to rely on Professor Snape as much as to assume he would feed Persephone? She regretted her slip of tongue even more when she realized Professor Lupin had noticed it. 

     "Yes, certainly. I'd hate to have her hungry. Persephone, you said?" He had gone after the tea things and it gave Zahirah time to sit down in one of the comfortable chairs in what appeared to be Professor Lupin's sitting room. Professor Dumbledore had sent her to the man's personal rooms rather than to his office as she had supposed.

      He returned with a cup of tea in one hand and a saucer in the other. "Persephone," Zahirah answered his earlier question. "After the goddess." 

    Professor Lupin set the cream down by Zahirah's chair. But instead of setting to the cream immediately, the kneazle peered from behind Zahirah's ankles, wrapped up in the tails of her robes, then shrunk against the woman's boots and growled as Lupin approached. 

    Zahirah kept her expression even despite her surprise. Professor Lupin's lack of reaction to the hostility seemed to indicate that it was not wholly unexpected. He stepped back slowly and took a seat of his own. "She's had a rough day," Zahirah politely explained.

    Professor Lupin waved it off. "Animals don't usually like me," he said with little expression in his voice.

    Zahirah looked at him for a long few moments while he settled into his chair with his tea. "Again, forgive the interruption, Professor Lupin. The Headmaster requested I speak to you as soon as possible, or I would have certainly waited to visit you in your office." At his dismissive hand gesture, she pressed on to stall any protests. 

    "You may or may not know that my duties as Hagrid's substitute also include overseeing the Forbidden Forest." She could see by his light nod that he had. "The Headmaster felt that some of the things I reported to him would be of interest to you." He was listening with every indication of rapt attention- - it was no time to put off what she had come to say. "There is a chimera in the Forbidden Forest, Professor. It is Professor Dumbledore's request that I should not go back alone. He suggested that you accompany me." Her manner didn't even hint that she was opposed to the idea, didn't give away a whit of her inner turmoil or her fear. The sleep had done her well. 

    Professor Lupin's tea stopped halfway to his mouth and held steady there for two breaths before it was lowered to the table. "A chimera?" he asked slowly, clarifying. 

    "That is what I said." 

    "But Professor Zahir, no one has seen a chimera in thousands of years-- it was rumoured that they are extinct." He sounded as though the prospect was something he hoped were, true rather than believed. 

     "I assure you," Zahirah answered in a neutral tone firmly detached from the swirling in her mind, "that I am not mistaken. There is a chimera in the Forbidden Forest and there has been for at least a month and a half." She tried to keep her anger in perspective, to not hold his disbelief against him. It certainly wasn't unreasonable to find a chimera hard to swallow. 

     "A month and a half!" She wanted to bristle at the accusation in his voice. "That's nearly full grown, isn't it?" He put his tea cup on the table and clasped his hands over a knee.

     "Fully grown, yes; fully mature, no.  Its skin is still soft enough to use magic against, but not for long-- it has started slaughtering." He looked unable to respond, so she continued, explaining, "It is marking its territory by killing everything around the place it hatched. It will continue to slaughter other predators and threats in a range that includes the forest and the school." She felt Persephone's reassuring presence before she realized the kneazle was physically in her lap and rubbing her head against her arms. Zahirah ran her fingers through Persephone's thick fur and soaked up the calming feel of the warm creature. It was enough for her to keep her collected, confident manner. 

     He had gone pale while she spoke. "Professor Lupin." She said his name almost sharply to get his attention. "The Headmaster wants us to go into the forest to evaluate our options. Will you come with me?" 

     The direct question got a response. "Of course, if that is what Professor Dumbledore thinks best." He rose when she did, regaining some of his color. 

     "I will meet you at Hagrid's hut at half-past eight. Arm yourself as you see fit, but I do not intend to be seen." She thanked him for the cream as she left the room. She could almost feel his gaze on her back until she turned a corner. 

* * * * *

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Thanks to Natasha Simonova and my usual beta team, Mike and Joyce, for the very helpful suggestions and corrections. 


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